Show Me Love
by Kasdeya
Summary: For too long Christophe has been using Gregory to get what he wants, but finally, when the blond takes a stand, he gets what he wants.


**Author's Note: **This story is based off the video Show Me Love by Gregory Welter, a cosplay video featuring the song My Heart Burns/Show Me Love by Rammstein and t.A.T.u. I originally started this a year ago and for a good friend of mine. Now it is finished and I decided to upload it here too. I hope you enjoy.

**WARNING: **Contains rape, violence, swearing, and other sensitive themes. Rated MA.

* * *

"Hello…"

"Hello…"

"Can you see the rain?"

"So what?"

"Just look out of the window."

"So what?"

"It was sunny this morning."

"So what?"

"Why are you always saying the same thing?"

"…"

…Beep.

* * *

It was another cold night and here I was being my usual dense self and venturing out without a jacket. I had left it at home as I nipped to the store, but I should have gone with my senses and thrown it on anyway. South Park was always cold and I hated it. I couldn't say England's weather was much better but at least there wasn't snow on the ground in the middle of May. Honestly, it took until late July for it to clear and then it was back again by September. I shivered and rubbed my gloved hands at my bare arms where the wind bit at them. The leather didn't aid in warming them. With an exasperated sigh and the slump of my shoulders, I dropped them back down to my sides. It was better this way as the bag I was carrying was rather heavy.

The streets remained as silent as ever. Apparently the nightlife here was next to nonexistent. As was the crime. I had to admit, it was a nice change of pace. For five years I have lived here, alone, and not once have I seen any form of crime. Of course there was always the weirdness which plagued the small mountain town, but I never stuck around long enough to get involved. As I passed under a streetlight, I took the chance to fish through my pockets and retrieve the packet of cigarettes; camels to be precise. They didn't belong to me but I had taken them from my work partner before he left. Just a little something to remember him by in case he didn't come home. Its poison was quick to work into my blood stream and lungs; forcing a satisfactory sigh from my lips. Lighter was stuffed back into the pocket of my black jeans, not to be used again for quite some time.

Despite earning quite a large sum of money a year, I could not afford anything better than a shabby little apartment on the more dangerous side of town. It was the side which people tended to avoid in fear of loosing an arm or a leg. I've dealt with worse and these threats never phased me. What did phase me was the state of the place. Not just my own apartment but the whole block. Grey chipped paint coated the walls, flaking off and littering the floor where no one bothered to clean it up. Not to mention the cracks snaking their way upwards and across the ceiling; there was doubt it would hold up for much longer. Mould collected in all four of the damp corners in the hallways and rooms. I tried my best to clean it up but it just keeps coming back!

Shouts echoed from behind locked doors, the occasional smash and cry of a child too. I hated my neighbours. The couple down the hall were the worse. Even from the bottom floor I could hear the angered cries of the failure of a man; the woman screaming back at him and sobbing in pain. Crashes and bangs were heard, followed by the wailing of their ten month old baby. I have to wonder why they had the kid in the first place but I did feel sorry for it. People like them should not be allowed to breed.

After walking up five flights of stairs and creeping past the couple's door which, thankfully, they had seemed to calm down by now, I froze on the spot, the bag dropping from my hand and its contents spilling onto the floor. I ignored it and ran the rest of the way to the figure slumped against the wall outside my door. Dropping to my knees, I forced the brunette to look up at me, taking note that he wasn't in good condition at all. Face was bloody and bruised, a bright black mark suffocating his right green eye. Cheek had been sliced open with something I guessed was a knife. The wound was beginning to coat over with a thin crust of dried blood, but still it oozed from between the cracks, forcing messy strands of mucky brown hair to stick to his face; the ends caked and dripping. His lip had also been split open but that wound had long since scabbed over, save the small amount of blood clinging to his teeth. I dreaded to think what the rest of him looked like.

"Oh, Christophe…" I sighed sadly, removing my hands from him and getting up. It was hard to look at him like this and I only blamed myself for letting him leave. Extending a gloved hand, I offered it to him but it was slapped away as per usual; that ever lasting scowl on his broken face. Sighing and gathering the items within my arms, I opened the door and allowed Christophe to enter first.

He didn't live with me, no one lived with me in this lonely placed. I hardly cared through, it was nice a serene but the one thing I did enjoy the most was when my partner came to visit. No matter how beaten up he was, I would always tend to his wounds. This time was no different. After leaving the items on the kitchen counter, I lead him to the only room conjoining the living room-study-bedroom-kitchen. It was a terribly small apartment where everything seemed to mass in one big room; kitchen in the corner and the bed next to the desk I found myself at night after sleepless night. Thankfully the bathroom was separate, however small it may be, it was private and even came with a lock. I never locked the door.

"Sit." I instructed, motioning to the edge of the bath. He did so with his usual grunt, indicating that he wasn't pleased about following orders. All I could do was roll my eyes and retrieve the medical kit from the cupboard over the sink.

The same old process occurred with me desperately trying to fix the boy up and him protesting, cursing and struggling. At one point I ended up on my arse on the tilted floor as I tried to disinfect the cut on the side of his face. Why Christophe insisted on fighting a loosing battle was beyond my comprehension. Still I never gave up and eventually I had cleaned up his face; he looked better, albeit a tad on the pissed off side. His expression never seemed to change; I wondered if he could actually smile. I had not witnessed it myself.

"How is the rest of your body?" I asked, wiping my bloody gloves on a nearby towel. The white fabric now staining with a red tint.

"Feene." he replied, voice thick with his French accent. I sighed.

"At least let me check."

"I deedn't come 'ere for your fuckeeng 'elp, Gregoree." he growled, impatience clear within his voice. I knew exactly why he was here. It was the same reason he always came here. We never saw each other outside of work for any other reason.

Apparently Christophe had been true to his word; he had no problems pinning me against the tiled wall of the bathroom, hot breath against the pale skin of my neck. I pushed against him but it was useless as his hands gripped my wrists in a vice hold and held them above my head. That didn't stop me from writhing against him; this wasn't how I wanted to spend my time with Christophe tonight. After not seeing him for a whole week, I just wanted to spend time sitting down and chatting. He could tell me all about his latest mission over a calm cup of tea. That never happened. Not once.

I gasped as teeth sunk into the soft flesh of my neck, involuntary tilting my head back as he kissed, sucked and bit down it. I knew there would be bruises in the morning, there always were. My body went slack against him, leaning forward and pressing my head against his shoulder as he worked on undoing my shirt with his now free hands. My own clung to his filthy green shirt, gloved fingers curling into the fabric covering his back. As much as I hated to admit it, I always gave into what he wanted. If only for a moment I could pretend that what we did was out of love and not just some animalistic act.

Never one to be patient, he tore the rest of my shirt open; the buttons becoming much too fiddly for his less than nimble fingers. It was thrown quickly to the floor by him and kicked aside.

"You arsehole," I hissed; that was one of my favourite shirts. Christophe was short to silence me by biting down again on my neck, hard enough to break the skin. He didn't seem to mind as he sucked out the blood from the freshly made wound. Granted, it made me feel like some sort of meal for a vampire. I winced at the thought and managed to pull his head away by his hair which he wasn't pleased about at all. A glare was sent my way before a painful slap across the face, jerking my head to the side and clenching my jaw, teeth grinding together as I suppressed any noises of pain. I'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing he harmed me. The grip I had was released and he grabbed my arm, yanking me from the bathroom and throwing me onto the bed I hadn't bothered to make.

I knew this position all to well; face planted in the pillow and laying flat on the dull blue bed sheets. They felt rough and rubbed against my bare chest. That quickly became the least of my problems as Christophe mounted me, grinding down against my hips and forcing a groan out to match my partner's own noises. Clearly I could feel his erection through the motion; friction bringing him pleasure and, myself, nothing but discomfort. I writhed beneath him, trying to buck him off but unfortunately he was much stronger than myself; pinning me down by pushing against my back.

Nails were dragged down, scraping the flesh but thankfully they weren't sharp enough to break it. I winced, body tensing as he came to my trousers, undoing them, pulling them down along with my boxers and exposing the bare flesh of my arse. I could almost hear the smirk on his lips; that devious little smile which was always present when he got what he wanted. I yelped in both pain and surprise as a singe, hard, slap was dealt. I glared over my shoulder and at the reddened skin in the shape of a handprint. Christophe forced my face back into the pillow.

"Don't fuckeeng glare at me." he growled, a handful of hair being gripped onto and yanked. I could feel the strands being forcefully ripped from my scalp. My head was pulled up with them before being slammed back down again. I got the message, letting out a quiet growl to prove my irritation and discomfort, but kept my head buried deep within the plump fabric and my only salvation during these less-than-ideal encounters.

The sound of his own trousers being zipped undone and a quiet moan came from him, I only guessed that he was trying to get himself harder with his own hand. I would have done it myself if not for hating him. All I could do was wait and listen. Hands gripped my hips and I tensed, closing my eyes and bringing the fabric of the pillow into my mouth to bite. The pain came all too soon as he thrust into me as far as he could possible get, my muscles being forced apart to allow the entry. I screamed out into the pillow and gripped onto whatever I could get; the bottom sheet of the bed which my nails just slid over in a desperate attempt to pull it up. Already he was moving with hard motions inside of me, pulling out and slamming back in. My whole body was screaming and I felt like a raging fire was incinerating my insides. I was forced to give up grabbing onto something, and balled my hands into fists, slamming one against the mattress.

As I screamed, he moaned out behind me, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon to follow; a symphony of telltale sounds. I didn't enjoy it one bit but crying out for help would earn me nothing but more pain. His claws ripped at my hips whilst mine pricked against the soft palms of my hands, so hard they bled, staining the white under sheet. I tried desperately to concentrate on something else, occupy my mind elsewhere, but that was becoming increasingly difficult as he quickened his pace and the strength behind each thrust. Eventually I gave up expressing my pain openly and just fell silent, save a few gasps as he brushed over my prostate. My body shuddered beneath him in a forced sense of pleasure. Christophe chuckled breathlessly from behind me, relishing in the noises I made and striking the sensitive bundle of nerves harder and harder to earn such reaction. I moaned into the pillow, moving my hands to scrape against my folded arms, just to bring that pain back and stop myself from enjoying this.

Eventually climaxed with an overly loud, animalist, cry; body freezing up as he rode out an orgasm and exploded inside of me. I shuddered with him as the hot liquid filled my caves. This was the part I hated and loved the most; it was over. He slipped out of me with a sigh of bliss, pulling his pants back up and buckling them. All I did was simply lay there, trying to get over and avoid the fact that my ass was dripping with his seed. I cringed and shook my head into the pillow to try and rid myself of these thoughts; telling myself it was okay and not that bad. It was. I'm a terrible liar.

Both of us stayed silent, the only sounds now were the faint pitter-patter of the rain beginning outside. The sound always calmed me and I took in a small breath of relief, plucking the courage to lift my head and search the room for Christophe. I found him standing by the window and watching as a flash of lightening lit up the night sky. It was too far away to hear the rumble which followed. Slowly and carefully, I slipped off the bed and pulled my trousers up, not bothering to re-button them as I planned on showering. Silently I headed for the drawer I kept clothes in, trying not to alert Christophe but he was far too paranoid to ever let his guard down. He turned sharply and glared at me.

"You're free to stay here," I muttered quietly, relaxing when he did and pulling a baggy black shirt from the drawer along with a plain grey pair of cotton shorts. "If you didn't want to go home in the rain, that is." I looked towards the window with a frown; the rain now coming down even harder than before. The storm was drawing closer and closer. He nodded, returning his attention to the outside world. I wished to join him and just watch the beautiful sight of the rain plummeting down on South Park, but I didn't dare. Instead I nodded, more to myself, and headed off to the bathroom.

The warm water came down like a shower of relief; sighing happily as it washed away the impurities of sex upon my skin. My head tilted back to soak under the water too, blonde hair now clinging to my pale face. I made sure to clean myself everywhere and rid myself of that horrible sent which clung to Christophe. The smell of cigarettes, dirt and blood. It intoxicated me and not in a good sense. It was the sense that made you want to vomit at the first whiff of it. I rested my head against the cold wall tiles of the bath-shower and sighed. How long he intended to do this for I had no idea. I just hoped it would all stop soon.

I stayed in there until the water ran cold and made me shiver. Turning it off, I stepped out and wrapped the white towel - which had decolourised to a grey over time - around my waist and sat upon the edge of the enamel bath. Tilting my head towards the door, I listened out for any sounds or noises that could inform me of what my partner was up to. He was as silent as ever. I frowned, grabbing another towel and starting work on my hair. This always took me longer than the shower itself as I had to organise the strands as I dried it to risk it going all haywire. It was a long and complicated process I didn't mind doing, especially since I knew what I would look like without taking care of it. My hair was naturally curly and I looked like a giant poof-ball if I didn't deal with it. I just couldn't leave it like that!

When I emerged from the bathroom after forty minutes, I found Christophe curled up and laying on the dirty sheets. I just couldn't help but smile; he looked so peaceful and cute like that. With a small sigh, I wiped it from my lips, recalling what he had done to me earlier and over the past. Yet, I still gave into what he wanted, every single time. I just couldn't bare the thought of loosing him all together. Slowly I crawled onto the bed next to him; his calmed face staring at my own. With hesitation, I shifted closer and rested my head on his clothed chest. He didn't move, which I couldn't tell if was a good or bad thing. Closing my eyes and sighing under my breath, I just listened to the murmur of his heart beat and the clapping of thunder outside. Each flash lit up the apartment and I foundmyself staring at the wall behind Christophe, just watching it until I fell asleep.

* * *

"Ze fuck?!"

I was thrown from my deep sleep by being roughly shoved onto the floor. I winced, opening my eyes and blinking through blurred vision to try and understand what was going on. I found myself staring at the darkness which plagued under my bed. A few spare cushions, weapons and boxes were shoved underneath; all of which I hardly ever touched. My rapier, my main weapon, was propped up against the wall.

"Ze fuck do you zink you're doeeng, beetch?" I heard Christophe hiss above me but before I could look up, I was grabbed by the back of my hair and forced to stand. I couldn't answer him as I didn't know how. What I had been doing was considered wrong in both of our eyes. Our relationship was strictly care-free.

"Let go." I managed to bite out, still hazy from sleep.

He didn't let go though and I was slammed against something hard. Most likely the wall. Blood trickled down from my nose and I was finally thrown back into the harsh reality. Staring at the grey wall, I scraped a hand under my nostrils to try and stop them from running. No good as I could easily taste the metallic tang on the tip of my tongue. Christophe was still behind me and I dealt with him by a kick backwards, landing right between his legs. He yelled out in pain and stumbled backwards, releasing the tight grasp he had on my hair but not before ripping most of it out. Wincing, I had to feel the back of my head just to make sure I wasn't going bald.

Turning sharply, I glared at him, keeping one hand pressed just under my nose in an attempt to hide the damage he had caused. The brunette was more than willing to meet my glare; his own green eyes narrowed like daggers. Form crippled and doubled over, both hands cupping his crotch.

"Get out." I barked.

But he didn't listen. Instead he moved towards me once he had recovered and straightened his posture. I stepped back against the wall. His hand reached out and lightly brushed my face, the warm hand cupping my cheek. Slowly I removed my own which was covered in blood and leaned into the soft touch with the faintest of smiles. Perhaps getting harmed had brought out a more affectionate side. One which I really enjoyed. His grip tightened suddenly and he held me in place as his other hand connected with my eye. My head slammed back against the wall from the force and I shrieked from surprise, falling to my knees and clutching my eye. I couldn't even see him properly, but from my good eye I could see the last of his boots disappearing out the door with a loud bang.

* * *

Over the next few days, I spent my time inside, not willing to show anyone the dark circle encasing my eye. I did manage to set my nose again though, no matter how much pain it caused me. Thankfully no one was around to hear that sudden cry of pain. That or it just got lost within the noises of the surrounding apartments. No one bothered to come check up on me, they never did. I could be killed in the most violent of ways within my own home and no one would notice my disappearance for years. It was terrible to think just how lonely I was and how much I missed Christophe. Yes, I was still pissed off at him but he was the only one I had now, ever since my mother and father had passed away in an unfortunate accident involving a wanted criminal. I remember the look on their bloody faces as I came home one day. They were still watching TV, a steak pierced through their hearts and pinning them to the painted sofa.

Since then I set out to find myself a job which would be a sue in for getting myself killed. I was far too prideful to commit suicide, but that didn't stop me from finding an indirect route towards it. I was partnered up with Christophe and we were the most ill-suited pair you had ever met. I couldn't be more different from him; he was messy, unkempt, foulmouthed, god-hating and sex-obsessed brute I had ever met. But his opposites were what exactly drew me in. On one mission we hit it off in the bedroom and things hadn't been the same since then. I just grew… attached.

The knock came at the door and I lifted my head from the book I had been sucked into. A romance novel at that. Folding over the corner of the page, I left it on my desk and slid off the bed.

Instantly I froze as I saw Christophe there, hands behind his back and looking a lot cleaner than usual. Was I dreaming? It sure seemed like it. Biting on the bottom of my lip, I stayed silent and so did he. Hands were brought out from behind him, in them, a white rose. It looked real at that too. Slowly I reached out to brush my hand against the top, feeling the silk of the petals upon my bare skin. It felt unusually good and comforting. He kept it there and I slid my hand lower to touch the stem and the very top of his gloved hand. My eyes snapped onto his and locked; my hand being retracted and I slowly shook my head, taking a step back. I couldn't accept this. It just wasn't right.

No words were exchanged between us during the few silent moments of staring. He just watched me with his green eyes I could never read or find any emotion, no matter how hard I searched. It was me who cut our meeting short by closing the door on him, leaning back against it as my fear kicked in where he would try and force his way in. It happened before but not this time. Body slid against the frame until I was perched up on my bent knees, back resting against the wood of the door. I tried listening for a sound but all I could hear was the familiar crying of the child at the end of the hall.

It was a good while before I finally decide to move. I couldn't hear anything anymore. However, as I stood and pressed my ear to the door, I could pick out the faint clacking of combat boots resonating down the stairs. Everything fell silent after that, save the child who had began to cry again. My hand curled around the door knob, my heart pounding a thousand times a second within my chest. What if Christophe was still there? I dreaded to imagine what he would do to me this time, especially after denying him entry. With a shaky breath, I attempted to calm my nerves and turn the handle which lead out onto the empty hallway. My breath hitched as I set my gaze upon the mess left in my partner's wake.

The white rose he had attempted to give to me lay in ruin upon the tiled floor. Each delicate pettal was scattered like confetti. The stem had teeth marks. Christophe had tried to demolish it with his sharp canine teeth, but gave up and ripped it apart instead. Of course, now I had to clear up the mess; no one else would. Gathering the pieces together, I cupped my hands around the pettals which threatened to fall and scatter again. I headed over to the window and knocked it open with my hip. Just high enough to slip my hands through. I opened them and the wind took the mess in my hands and carried them away on the wind. The stem remained and I simply tipped my hands upside down and let it fall to the streets below.

Stupid Christophe.

* * *

I didn't see him for two weeks after that. It was a wonder if he would ever come back. I was constantly telling myself that I didn't need him, but truthfully I felt somewhat lost without him. The bruise had finally began to fade and my confidence was returning; I actually went out. Although it was only to meet a client about a new job. One which I would be doing alone. I kept myself occupied by regular trips around the small stores of South Park and one day I even went into Denver to buy a new shirt. The exact same one they sell in the local shops. It was just nice to venture out more and meet new people. Of course I didn't dare speak to them but at least it was a batch of new faces. I felt sick seeing the same people scurry about this rathole of a town.

But I missed him. I missed seeing his face.

With papers spread out in front of me, I sat at my desk and went over the briefs for the mission which would occur in just four days. As I let my mind and eyes wander, they focused on the streets outside. Silent and barren, save an all too familiar figure. Abruptly I stood, the chair falling backwards and landing with a clatter. My hands pressed to the glass and I watched him as he stalked towards the stretch of dried up grass below. He easily stepped over the fence and stood beneath my window, head tilted and exhaling a long line of smoke into the air as if it would reach me.

Opening the window, I leant forward to peer out of it and sure enough, there was Christophe, dressed in a long black trenchcoat and cigarette between his lips. The coat I was happy about, since it would keep him warm. His hardened gaze locked with mine. The two of us just stared at each other in a mutual silence. What was I supposed to say to him? I just wanted to hear his voice. It felt like an eternity since his words grated against the inside of my ears in that thick accent I both loved and despised. But then I remember just what he had done and just what type of person he was. He wasn't here to apologise or beg for forgiveness.

I turned sharply and slammed the window shut, closing my eyes and preparing myself for the glass to shatter or a flurry of curses. Nothing happened and I cracked one eye open, turning to cautiously glance out the window and just catch his dark form retreating back over the fence, coat flaring behind him.

Why I ended up chasing him I have no idea. I'll put it down the fact that I was scared of loosing him. It was clear that Christophe was slipping from my grasp; he was loosing his fight. With my own black coat wrapped tightly around me, shielding me from the cold morning air, I walked briskly in the same direction.

Soon I was running.

The slightest glimpse of his tanned skin caught my eyes as it turned a corner into a collection of small buildings. They were no bigger than a garage and used for the apartments nearby for extra storage. The place was a total maze and thus I never used it. I did not have many things anyway. Quickly I ran down the entrance, coming to a junction which lead left and right. Frantically I searched for any sign of him. In the end I had to settle for a random direction. I chose left.

Every time I came to a dead end, I had to turn back. Every time I came to a crossroad, I had to decide. My chances of finding Christophe were looking slimmer with each step and I doubted I could even find my way out of here. Every small garage looked the same; save a few smart souls who painted the doors different colours. It still didn't help me form a map in my mind.

I was just above to give up all together when I saw Christophe on the otherside of the chain fence. Skidding to a halt, I wrapped my fingers around the links and watched him light up a cigarette.

"Christophe!" I called. He looked. His expression was almost one of anger and I flinched backwards.

"Stay there!"

Finding my way into the section where he was, I let out a breath of relief when I saw him still sitting on a container of something. Smoke leaked from his scowling lips and cautiously I approached him, reaching out my hand to touch him just to see whether he was real or not. Perhaps my delusional mind only wished he was there.

"Arrêter." he ordered and I retracted my hand. "What ze 'ell do you want?"

"I'm sorry, Christophe. I... I do not know what came over me." I found myself chewing on the bottom of my lip, wincing as I tasted blood. I hadn't the slightest clue what I was apologising for either but it seemed to work as he smiled. A victorious smile which almost seemed devious.

"You better be."

"I am." I sighed, shifting uncomfortably. I hadn't even noticed that he had jumped off from where he was sitting and stood in front of me. The familiar hand at my cheek made me look up, frowning at him. "What?"

He didn't answer me, just leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. My eyes went wide and slipped closed, just trying to enjoy this rare moment I had secretly wanted for a very long time. It made me forget about everything he had done to me, and it restored my faith in him; Christophe almost seemed as if he felt the same about me and wanted to be with me.

Our lips moved in sync together and I swear I could hear sparks fly. He must not have been so intoxicated as I was as he pulled away long before we would run out of breath. I still had that frown placed on my lips but Christophe was smirking at me now. That same smirk he used to give me before he did something devious, however now it seemed almost like he was happy. I hoped that was the case.

"See you soon, oui?" he said, replacing the cigarette back between his lips to take a casual drag. I simply nodded.

* * *

I was hoping to see him tonight, I was hoping to see him even the day after, but he never turned up. I spent night after night sitting on my bed, tossing and turning, checking my phone every so often to see if he had called or even texted me! There was nothing, just a blank screen to greet me each time with the minutes counting further and further away from our special little moment. I was beginning to worry more day by day, and I was right as a week later, the letter came in the post:

'Dear Mr. Williams,

We regret to inform you that your work partner Christophe DeLorne died earlier today in hospital after being the victim of a violent assault. We understand this is a hard time for you but we will be in touch within the next week to discuss a new partner for you and Mr DeLorne's funeral plans. Unfortunately no will was written by him so all of his possessions will be sent back to France for his mother.

My deepest regards at this troubling time,

XXX'

I broke into a state of despair and a flood of tears half way through the message. I couldn't believe it. Christophe had always been the one to kill, not be killed. Sure he was reckless and unlucky, but he never once came close to death, but now, at the young age of twenty-three, he was dead.

Dead.

I threw myself onto the bed he used to claim me on and sobbed deeply into the flattened pillow. I didn't want a new partner, I wanted my old one back. I wanted to see Christophe again and for us to finally be together. I know it was a stupid dream and it would never come true. I knew that from the start that we would never be together romantically but that didn't stop me from hoping. Now it was never going to happen. Not in this life time.

After an hour spent soaking my pillow through to the cotton inside of it, I lifted my head and read over the letter again. I hoped that somewhere it was written that it was just a joke and he was waiting for me by the park or even the liquor store would do. Unfortunately every word was the same as before, even through my blurry vision I could clearly see that and I couldn't take it. All of this crying was giving me a headache and I was soon spiralling deeper and deeper into depression. Finally I crawled over to my desk where my medication was and popped two pills. I downed them with a glass of water I had gotten from the kitchen, but two just wasn't enough to numb the pain inside. I was soon taking three, four, five, six, seven…

The packet was empty and I collapsed, the glass of water smashing next to me as I hit the floor.


End file.
